


Light My Way, Lift My Head

by marauders_groupie



Series: A Very Merry Bellarke Christmas! [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Christmas, Christmas Party, F/M, Social Media, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke doesn't mind living with Bellamy. Sure, they fight a lot but it's all good - until he breaks the radiator on the night of their Christmas party. Cue shirtless Bellamy and very confused Clarke who can't deal with all of these sudden feels. </p><p>*</p><p>Based on the prompt: “Our Christmas party turned into a tropical theme because the radiator is broken and it’s hotter than hell in here - damn you look good without a shirt i never noticed before asgdhfjgkhl”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light My Way, Lift My Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alltheworldsinmyhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltheworldsinmyhead/gifts).



> I don't know what to tell you guys, I'm just writing these AUs and my life is a Christmas fluffy mess. 
> 
> The title is from The Killers - Boots.
> 
> Enjoy!

As far as roommates go, Bellamy Blake isn’t the worst one Clarke Griffin had. Her previous roommate liked leaving dirty socks in the kitchen sink, for a reason Clarke isn’t even going to try to understand. Compared to that asshole, Bellamy’s tendency to fight her over every little thing doesn’t even seem half as bad.

But she just can’t fucking wait until he comes home and she gives him the scolding of his life for busting the radiator, thus making their apartment a fucking oven that’s had her stripping to her underwear two seconds from entering it.

And all she got was a text.

_I accidentally broke the radiator. Text everyone it’s a tropical-themed party tonight. Sorry._

She wasn’t expecting it to be _this_ bad – windows fogging up, half of the cookies prepared for their Christmas party melted into a fudge on the kitchen counter and the radiator merrily humming away as it fries them alive.

So when Bellamy finally comes home from work, she’s up from the couch (sweating in the thinnest t-shirt she could find, thank you very much) and at him in a matter of seconds.

“Welcome to the oven! Would you like to be crispy baked or on the rare side?”

He scowls at her, hanging his coat in the hallway and toeing off his shoes. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Princess.”

Oh, and he has his own stupid little nickname for her. Apparently it’s because she uses up all the hot water but let’s be real, Bellamy Blake is the real princess here. It’s not Clarke’s fault that he needs to spend twenty minutes in a steaming hot shower.

“Well, I don’t appreciate sweating like a pig when I should be huddled under a blanket. It’s Christmas!”

“I said I’m sorry, what else do you want?”

“Did you call Kane?”

Marcus Kane is their landlord, three floors down and permanently pissed off whenever one of “those annoying kids in 3B” need something. He’s got a proclivity for shouting into pipes and vents connecting their apartments whenever he thinks their TV is too loud and can’t be assed to care about maintenance.

But the apartment is cheap so they’re not complaining.

“Of course I called Kane,” Bellamy rolls his eyes, wiping off the sweat already collected at his brow. Clarke shoots him a pointed glare. “The repairman can come the day after tomorrow at the earliest.”

“A-fucking-mazing. What the hell were you doing anyways?”

Bellamy ducks his head, a sheepish smile spreading across his mouth and Clarke zeroes in on that. Oh, this is going to be good – probably better than when he’d had a girl over and broken the bathroom sink. That one allowed gave Clarke enough material to rib him for _weeks_.

But instead of saying that he’d done something embarrassing, he just whispers, “Trying to hang up the decorations.”

“Ok, and then what?”

Bellamy frowns at her. “Nothing. I nearly fell off the ladder and had to step on the radiator knob. That’s literally all there is.”

“ _Fuck_.”

He looks at her like he’s never done the same thing – bother her for things like trying to bake and end up spilling the flour all over the kitchen floor, so she swats his arm, groaning because moving means getting your body warmer and getting your body warmer means dying in this sauna of an apartment.

The worst thing is – their friends are supposed to be here in five hours and they’ve got approximately nothing except for beer, eggnog and half-assed attempts at cooking. It’s actually a miracle that they’ve even got that much.

“You should go get ice cream,” she tells him finally, resting back on the couch and feeling like she’s two seconds from catching fire.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he says, breathless, and all but runs through the front door.

 

*

Clarke’s friends often ask her why does she live with Bellamy if they fight that much. She often asks herself that, too, because it feels like an act of incomprehensible masochism on her part. They fight about stations on the radio, politics, music and they’ve even fought about Albus Dumbledore once or twice.

But the thing they never fight about is whose turn it is to do the dishes, who’s going to take out the trash, who’s making the dinner and social justice. So, all in all, it’s not like Clarke _minds_ living with him. And all the fighting is fun. They never stop talking to each other after that, the one who wins an argument just grins smugly and the other tells them to fuck off.

“It’s some weird kind of foreplay for you two, isn’t it?” Raven asks her, puttering around the radiator and hitting it with her wrench when not even she can fix it.

“Alright, Rae, you don’t have to be mean just because you can’t fix it,” Clarke says, trying to sound offended. Raven does have a point because when she and Bellamy are arguing, Clarke often feels like she’s two seconds away from either killing him or kissing him.

It’s just –

They’re like that, stop judging.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, wiping her hands off at her jeans and scowling at the radiator, “it’s weird. You’re smug that he’s broken it.”

“Of course I’m smug, I’m going to keep mentioning it for the rest of his life. I’ll get it carved on his tombstone so his descendants can laugh at how clumsy he was.”

“See? That’s the kind of shit I’m talking about.”

“Can you fix the damn thing or not?”

 She narrowly dodges the screwdriver Raven throws at her on her way out and she can’t help laughing. Their overheated apartment is a sinking ship and she can’t even abandon it.

 

*

 

Clarke Griffin: Change of plans, you guys. Bring your swimsuits tonight. Bellamy fucked up the radiator and we’re dying.

Clarke Griffin: If you don’t hear from me again, know that I want to be cremated and sprinkled all over Bellamy’s shit so he never forgets that it’s his fault.

Bellamy Blake: It’s not that bad, Princess.

Bellamy Blake: I didn’t give you this much shit when you broke the window last year and I had to sleep in a jacket.

Bellamy Blake: In a JACKET!

Clarke Griffin: You’re such an asshole!

Clarke Griffin: I never said anything to anyone about the time I had to wash my teeth in the kitchen for a WEEK because you and Roma broke the bathroom sink!

Nathan Miller: Why do I feel like I’m reading porn?

Raven Reyes: Because B&C have a kink for fighting.

Nathan Miller: I thought we said we won’t be kink-shaming.

Raven Reyes: Oh no, we’re definitely shaming these two. They deserve it.

Bellamy Blake: We said we’re not going to mention that!

Bellamy Blake: And we don’t have a kink for fighting, shut the fuck up.

Raven Reyes: You really do.

Nathan Miller: Seeing you two fight is like watching an Animal Planet documentary on weird mating habits of sloths.

Nathan Miller: Or something.

Nathan Miller: Disgusting.

Octavia Blake: Why do I have to be a part of this conversation?

Octavia Blake: Thank you for scarring me for life. Really needed that. You’re the best, guys.

Lincoln Woods: We’ll bring actual food. Need anything else?

Clarke Griffin: Sloths are cute. And we’re awesome, shut up. We’re letting you freeloaders throw a party in our apartment.

Clarke Griffin: A little appreciation would be nice!

Bellamy Blake: What she said.

Jasper Jordan: Did they just agree with each other?

Nathan Miller: They did.

Raven Reyes: I bet you 10 bucks they’re fucking right now.

Octavia Blake: I hate all of you.

 

*

“Get the fuck out, Blake!”

Clarke pounds her fist against the bathroom door because everyone is going to be there in ten minutes and she _still_ hasn’t showered.

“Stop staring in the mirror, you look fine!”

She taps her foot impatiently, staring at the crack in the tile by the coat hanger and thinking about how she’ll kill Bellamy if she has to wait for more than a minute when the doors pop open and she jumps up.

“Fucking finally, what the – “

Fun fact: they’ve been roommates for two years now, a history teacher and a graphic designer, they’ve seen each other sick, puking and hungover, but there is one situation they haven’t found themselves in.

Clarke has never, _ever_ seen Bellamy shirtless.

And now he’s wearing his swimming trunks, a really stupid flowery pattern that he’ll probably claim he wears ironically but, let’s be real, Bellamy cries about Pride and Prejudice, and he’s actually – well, hot.

Bellamy Blake is hot.

Sure, Clarke could’ve guessed that he’s in a good shape but she’s still a little speechless seeing all the planes and –

Oh, okay, are those abs?

Those _are_ abs.

“Cat got your tongue, Princess?” he smirks, leaning on the doorway and Clarke barely manages to snap out of it. She sees guys and girls naked all the time, it’s not a big deal, but this is _Bellamy_ and she likes his freckles every day but now she _knows_ that there is a cluster of them just beneath his collarbone.

“No, I’m pretty sure it _melted_ because someone fucked up the radiator,” she growls, pushing him away and slamming the door shut.

At least now she doesn’t mind the cold water when she steps into the shower, trying to cool herself off. For more reasons than one. Of course, it’s extremely troubling that Bellamy is this hot and she actually feels attracted to him. There’s already the problem of wanting to kiss him when he gets all riled up, cheeks red and flailing his arms around, but this is worse.

Oh, this is so much worse because she’d considered Bellamy to be a really opinionated dork who she finds attractive from time to time. And now – now her body is practically telling her to get a grip because there is no reason not to ask him out.

Which she wants to do – she wants to ask him out. Sure, she could just sleep with him – the two of them do it all the time (not with each other, though) but she wants more of him. Finn and Lexa fucked her up pretty bad but Bellamy is nice most of the time (fighting is their way of communicating and having fun, they’re not actual assholes to each other), he tries to come off as a jerk when in reality, his mother henning ways shine through and maybe, just maybe, Clarke really likes the way he laughs – a little incredulous, like he can’t believe it’s happening.

But she takes that cold shower, forces herself to get a grip and throws on that one bikini she knows her boobs look best in. Just for the fun of it.

And if Bellamy blushes after seeing it, she can’t say she minds. It’s not as if anything is going to happen. When you find a decent roommate, you don’t do anything that’s going to mess up your dynamic.

Clarke doesn’t even see the Christmas tree (Bellamy was supposed to decorate it this year and they might be running a little late) until she hears Wells and Raven have arrived and goes to greet them.

“What the hell did you do with our tree?”

Bellamy turns away from Wells to frown at her. “What’s wrong with the tree?”

“The three looks like someone dropped a Christmas bomb on it. Look at this,” she raises the pink garland. “Pink! Who the hell matches pink garlands with golden ornaments?”

“I do. And it looks great. Right, Wells?”

Wells looks between the two of them and backs away, half-hiding behind Raven who is sporting an amused grin. “Sure – uh – it’s definitely something.”

“I take a shower, a shower, and you manage to mess the whole thing up!”

Bellamy scoffs, leaning on the counter as his arms and abs flex simultaneously. She’s done for. Seriously, she’s not even going to deny it anymore. “Lay off, princess, will you? It’s fine. The tree is fine.”

“It looks like shit,” she mutters, turning towards the bag Raven and Wells brought. There’s enough wine to keep her going through the night and it looks as if Wells made his famous apple pie.

For the rest of the night, Clarke manages to keep a hold on herself. Sort of. She’s trying, really, but she develops an intense hatred for Bellamy after she catches herself checking Jasper out just so she wouldn’t check Bellamy out.

It’s the worst and not even Lincoln’s comforting nachos help. But Raven drags her out to the makeshift dance floor, where they’ve pushed the couches away to make some room for whomever wants to die dancing in this heat, and it’s good. The remixes of Christmas songs are the literal worst but Raven is flailing around despite her brace so Clarke can do it too.

By midnight, Octavia has put up mistletoes in every doorway of their apartment and Clarke tries to focus on not meeting Bellamy under one of them. So far, she’s kissed Raven – a nice kiss, she’s really sorry Raven is dating Wells, Jasper (who apologized and asked if Clarke could help him woo Maya) and Miller (“Whatever, Clarke. We know you and Bellamy are a done deal.”).

It’s a good party, she concludes by the time she’s hiding in the kitchen behind the counter and trying to lick off the remaining wine off the cap. All the beers have been drunk, half of the food is gone but her friends are having fun and that’s all that matters.

She doesn’t even mind parading around in a bikini. She doesn’t even mind that Bellamy is parading around shirtless.

A deep voice snaps her out of her daydreaming of living in Alaska (where it’s nice and cold) and she scowls when she recognizes who it belongs to.

“Really, Princess?”

Bellamy is standing a few feet away, arms full of empty snack bowls, and smirking at her. Thankfully, the bowls are covering most of his muscles but then he turns away and –

Clarke knew his ass looked good, but she’s a little drunk right now and it looks even better.

“Stop licking the cap, I’ve found more wine.”

He hands her the bottle and she takes a nice, long sip as Bellamy watches her, amused. “So, why are you hiding in the kitchen?”

“I can’t stand looking at that ugly tree.”

“The tree is fine!” he protests, nearly knocking down a vase Octavia and Lincoln brought as a present (“We figured we may as well get you two one present, it’s cheaper and you’re practically married.” – Clarke would’ve minded the statement were it not for the fact that they had been sort of married without the fun sex part ever since they moved in together).

“The tree is ugly,” she retorts, standing up.

This time he steps closer, towering over her. She has no idea what’s going on but they’re all already drunk and it shows. For some it means that crushes which would usually go unnoticed came into light of Bellamy’s actually very nicely-decorated tree – like with Monty and Miller slow dancing to Uptown Funk, and for Bellamy and Clarke that means fighting.

“The tree is _not_ ugly.”

He’s still towering over her and she thinks it’s pretty unfair. It’s not her fault that she barely reaches up to his chin and he knows it. Doesn’t usually do it but apparently, right now he has no problem being plain disrespectful.

“Pink and gold, Blake. Who does that?”

“Literally everyone decorates their tree the way they want to,” he groans and Clarke really can’t stand it. He’s so infuriating and gets on her nerves ninety percent of the time, but he’s also really hot when he’s all winded up.

“God, will you just – ugh, wait,” she commands, pressing her hands to his chest. “Just wait here.”

She beelines towards their bathroom, avoiding Raven who tries to pull her into a weird dance circle in which Wells tries to breakdance and fails, thanks the heavens above for no one else next to her in a mistletoe-decked doorway and finally exclaims when she finds what she’s looking for.

The ladder.

She tugs it behind her through the crowd, no one asking what the hell she needs it for, and places it in front of a very confused Bellamy.

The ladder creaks as she steps on the second of third steps in total and she grins victoriously, being the taller one.

“How do you like it now?”

Bellamy just blinks at her, cheeks red from the heat, alcohol and their fight. For a second it looks as if he’s about to laugh and she pokes him in the middle of the forehead with a self-satisfied smirk. “Tall little fucker.”

Honestly, fuck tall people and their ability to tower over everyone else.

She’s smirking and Bellamy is still blinking, jaw slightly dropping with each passing second, when Octavia enters the kitchen with a grin that can’t be possibly good news.

And a mistletoe in her hand.

Both of them eye her warily as she approaches them and steps on her toes to hold up a mistletoe over their heads.

“Now kiss.”

Clarke startles like a newborn fawn and nearly falls off of the ladder, grabbing the handle at the last second and Bellamy just gapes. Apparently, that’s what he does now – he gapes.

“It’ll be good,” she continues. “Get all that unresolved sexual tension out of your system.”

“You can’t – “

“O, for the love of – “

“Stop sputtering and get to it. Here, I’ll even tie the mistletoe to the ladder so I don’t have to be here. God knows my stomach can’t take it.”

Then she does exactly that and with a content nod skips away into her version of sunset – Lincoln and a bottle of rum, probably.

The mistletoe hangs by Clarke’s knee and near Bellamy’s head, but it’s really hanging over both of their heads because they exchange a confused look, unsure of what to do now.

Not that she’d mind kissing him, honestly – the day she says she’d mind kissing someone that hot and possibly, like really there’s this tiny possibility, _cute_ – her friends have the permission to shoot her.

“Maybe we should,” she offers, waving vaguely at the mistletoe. It’s green, has a red bow tied on top of it and still it manages to look threatening to their delicate ecosystem.

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “We don’t want to risk bad luck.”

“Right. It’s – we’re good, right?”

“We’re totally good.”

But she’s pretty sure his cheeks are burning up not because of the heat but because of what’s about to happen and in a way, it’s cute.

Fuck, she can just stop denying it, Bellamy _is_ cute.

She steps off of the ladder and places a tentative hand to his side, eyes flickering to check if he’s good. His nod is small and sheepish, the smile on his lips almost imperceptible as his skin burns her. It’s because it’s so warm in the apartment, totally is.

Except it’s not because she props herself up on her toes and leans in, only for Bellamy to say, “Stop.”

Of course. He’s more rational than she is – he knows they shouldn’t risk this making this awkward. It’s just a vague attraction, nothing more, they can totally –

“I have to tell you something,” he murmurs, the hand he had on the small of her back withdrawing.

“Alright.”

“I can’t kiss you.” Clarke tries to ignore how that statement affects her. “Because I _like_ you. And I don’t want to be an asshole about it but if I know what it’s like to kiss you, it’ll be harder to get over you.”

“The way I see it, that’s the opposite of a problem,” she grins smugly, leaning in closer again and nuzzling into his jaw. “Some might say it’s a solution.”

“So-“he trails off and she feels his muscles tensing but she enjoys winding him up. That’s what she loves doing, that’s her hobby. Fuck gym, honestly.

“So I still think your Christmas tree is shit, I’m still pissed off because of the radiator but I like you too.”

His face lights up and this time, she _does_ kiss him. Softly at first, barely brushing his lips, as if not to scare him away. Bellamy is like that – infuriating, annoying, trying to come off as caring too little when in reality he cares too, too much.

But she likes it. She likes him and the way he tastes of Monty’s horrible eggnog and his teeth grazing her lower lip. She doesn’t even mind how warm his hand feels on her neck as he pulls her in closer, the apartment already being an oven.

Really, she doesn’t mind anything at all.

They move away after what feels like ages and his voice is low, warm right by her ear. “Should’ve done this months ago.”

“Yeah, well, you always were slow.”

Bellamy lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll take it this doesn’t mean we’ll stop fighting?”

“Nope,” she says and grins up at him. His eyes are full of mirth and Clarke likes that it’s probably because of her. “Raven is right. It’s our weird foreplay.”

“Hey!” he flicks her nose with his index finger. “ _I_ like our foreplay.”

“So, do you want to –“she nods towards her bedroom, cringing at the thought of staying here and risking someone walk in on them.

Bellamy winks at her. “I have a better idea.”

 

*

 

“Mm, God, yes, Bellamy!”

“Damn, Clarke!”

“Keep going, keep going.”

“Is it as good for you as it is for me?”

“Even better – ugh, shit, yeah, don’t stop!”

“Fuck, why didn’t we do this earlier?”

Clarke turns the water even colder and they sag against the tiles, bodies writhing in what is pure bliss of a cold shower.

“We could be having sex right now,” she points out, breathless as cold water bats away at her back, soaking her shirt through and through.

She doesn’t even care.

“Yeah, we could. But do you want to risk getting any warmer?”

“I don’t want to risk Raven saying I told you so.”

“That, too.”

There’s a knock at the bathroom door and Octavia’s voice on the other side. “I know I’ll regret this but I really have to pee- Oh.”

Clarke can only imagine what they look like because Octavia bursts out laughing, turning the shower off and shooing them out, and doesn’t stop laughing until the lock behind them pops and they’re left soaking wet in the middle of the living room.

The music stops as Jasper steps forward, jaw hanging down to the floor. The rest of their friends turn to face them, varying degrees of amusement and shock on their faces. Mostly amusement, since only Lincoln has the decency to at least pretend like he’s shocked for their benefit.

Clarke still doesn’t know how they deserved such a nice human being in their friend group.

“Did I not tell her?” Raven asks Wells, trying to look nonchalant. “Did I not tell her that it’s a weird foreplay?”

Bellamy curses under his breath and sneaks a look at Clarke. “Fuck everything.”

“Fuck everything, yeah,” she confirms, a little tired, mostly wet and hating the way humidity clings to her skin. “I’ve got a small portable fan in my room.”

Bellamy’s face lights up as he nods enthusiastically, all but dragging her to her bedroom. They lock the doors behind them, ignoring Raven’s shouts on the other side and Octavia’s heckles, and Clarke scrambles to get the tiny fan fuelled by the smallest batteries.

It’s pretty pathetic but it’s something.

“I’m a big fan of your fan,” Bellamy smiles at her, at a safe distance that keeps their skin from getting sticky.

“You’re a big fan of my _everything_.”

When he doesn’t protest, just smiles happily, she pecks his cheek and regrets it instantly. “It’s too hot.”

“Hot damn.”

This is her life now. And she really doesn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, that's that! I hope you liked it, and if you did - please remember the dynamic duo: kudos & comments because yes, I will smile like a kid on Christmas morning if I see that you liked it. That's a promise.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Happy 9th of Christmas!
> 
> p.s. i'm also on [tumblr](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com).


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